


Friends and Lovers

by linndechir



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: “It's nice to put a name – and a face – to the voice on the radio,” Diana said with a smile. “And there was really no need to pick me up. I could have taken a cab.”“That's what I told Master Wayne, but I believe he was trying to be nice, and that happens so very rarely that I try not to discourage him.”





	Friends and Lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [susiecarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/gifts).



Airports were the same all over the world, loud and busy and unwelcoming, and Gotham International was no exception. A month had passed since Diana had left the States – she'd stayed for a little while after the funeral, had even fought by Bruce's side again another time, though on a much smaller scale, before he had turned his full attention to finding the others. And Diana still had a life back in Paris, one she hadn't planned to give up on entirely. It had done her some good, to return to her work at the Louvre and consider all that had happened in peace and quiet.

She was headed towards the long row of taxis when a deep, smooth voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Miss Prince.”

There was something familiar about that voice that she couldn't immediately place. When she turned, she saw that it belonged to a tall, well-dressed man who was leaning ever so slightly against a pristine Rolls-Royce. He was far from young – well into his 60s, she estimated – but his bearing still spoke of strength, his eyes were gleaming with a dark humour, and grey hair and wrinkles didn't change the fact that he was still a handsome man. 

“Yes?” she said and stepped closer, still trying to place his voice, when his face didn't seem familiar at all.

“Alfred Pennyworth,” he said and offered her his hand, his grip firm and strong. “Master Wayne asked me to pick you up.”

It struck her then. The night at the Gotham docks just before she'd left – crouched in shadows by Bruce's side while they'd waited for Bruce's target to arrive, and she'd heard that voice in his earpiece. Deep, sardonic, irreverent despite the infallibly polite address.

“It's nice to put a name – and a face – to the voice on the radio,” she said with a smile. “And there was really no need. I could have taken a cab.”

“That's what I told Master Wayne, but I believe he was trying to be nice, and that happens so very rarely that I try not to discourage him.”

Diana laughed – at his words as much as at his tone, dry and exasperated and yet filled with a fondness she hadn't expected. She had come to respect Bruce, and she appreciated that he had gone to the trouble of returning the photograph from the war to her, but he wasn't a man who seemed particularly easy to _like_.

“In that case I won't object.”

He eyed her bag for a moment, and she'd met enough men like him – old-fashioned in this current century, raised with what they had been taught were impeccable manners – to guess what he was thinking. But after a moment he seemed to decide that her being stronger than any human mattered more than her being a woman, or maybe just more than her being someone he'd been sent to pick up, and instead of offering to take her bag he merely opened the boot of the car for her, and then a moment later the back door. Despite his age she recognised the straight-backed tension in his posture – a soldier's bearing, even if his wars were long behind him.

“I'd rather sit beside you, if you don't mind.” She was curious, about him as much as about his relationship with Bruce, and in her experience looking at the back of a man's head didn't facilitate conversation. He raised a rather expressive eyebrow, but merely inclined his head and got the passenger's door for her instead. Diana supposed that, working for Bruce Wayne, he had to be used to far odder behaviour.

“I understand Master Wayne has offered to let you stay in one of his properties in the city while you're here,” he said after finding his way out of the airport traffic. Diana had closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the deep rumble of the engine – she'd always loved cars, and she wasn't surprised that Bruce owned more than a few that she wouldn't mind borrowing for a day. 

“Yes. I told him that wasn't necessary either.”

“No, but if you had refused, he probably would have booked every hotel room in the city.” Still that same dry tone, and Diana couldn't help but laugh. She wasn't entirely sure if he was exaggerating.

“He can be rather … stubborn, can't he?”

“I'm afraid you don't know half of it, Miss Prince.”

He only seemed to refrain from rolling his eyes because it would have been undignified, and she found another laugh bubbling out of her. There hadn't been much to laugh about these past months – between Superman's death, the tense grief in Bruce's eyes, the vague threat of further attacks, and her own memories clawing to the surface as if they hadn't had decades to rest – and she appreciated the feeling of light-heartedness that flooded her in his presence. Alfred Pennyworth seemed like a man who'd somehow managed to be able to still laugh despite all the horrors of the world. A sardonic laugh maybe, but she found that far more pleasant than Bruce's grim cynicism.

“What exactly is it you do for Bruce?” she asked after a few minutes had passed in companionable silence.

“I'm his butler,” he replied, his tone as even as if that was all there was to it, as if any good butler provided his employer with tactical advice while said employer fought criminals in the darkest hour of the night.

“I suspect there's a little bit more to it than that, isn't there?” 

The corner of his mouth quirked up, as if he was enjoying a private joke, but his voice never lost its even dryness.

“Master Wayne can be somewhat eccentric, but I don't need to tell you that.”

“No, I suppose you don't.” Diana didn't point out that a man who'd clearly spent some amount of time working for Bruce had to have his own share of eccentricities.

* * *

The next afternoon she drove to the address Alfred Pennyworth had given her, in a sports car she'd bought earlier that morning because she doubted that either Bruce or Alfred would appreciate her trying to abscond with the Rolls-Royce. The Wayne Estate lay at the outskirts of the city, and while she hadn't really been able to picture it before, it somehow fit everything she knew about Bruce. The overgrown lawns, the towering old trees, the wildflowers blossoming all around the burnt down manor. Bruce had always seemed like a man with as many memories weighing him down as Diana herself, and his home reflected that in a way no place Diana ever stayed in did.

She wondered how his _butler_ fit into all that. Bruce seemed somewhat too modern to have a butler, and despite the accent and the deferring manners Alfred Pennyworth seemed unlike any of the old-fashioned servants she'd come across in her time in England after the war. She smiled when it was him who opened the door of the clearly very recently built lake house.

“Miss Prince, please do come in.” He seemed genuinely pleased to see her, and she didn't object when he took her jacket. His hands were warm when they brushed her shoulders for a split second, and she found herself thinking for a moment about how steady they'd been on the wheel the day before. She'd always appreciated good drivers almost as much as fast cars.

“It seems rather unfair for you to keep calling me that if you insist I call you Alfred,” she teased, and his expression made her smile widen.

“I'm afraid you'll have to live with the unfairness of that.”

He offered her tea – “or something stronger, I know I tend to need that around Master Wayne” – and they drank it in the light-flooded kitchen of the lake house. The thought made her smile – an English butler and an amazon in such a modern building – and yet he seemed perfectly at home in it, and what was more, he made her feel at home there, too.

“How long have you been working for him?” she asked, and Alfred gave her a rather odd look.

“His whole life, I'm afraid.” He took a sip of tea that hid his smile for a moment, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement. “I all but raised him, so some fault might lie with me.”

“I would not fault you. He's a good man. He only needed to remember it.” She looked out of the window, over the lake as it glistened in the afternoon sun. She'd seen good men despair before – she had despaired herself, withdrawn from more pain than she could bear, all but given up on mankind when it seemed so intent on destroying itself out of greed and hate and envy. She did not blame Bruce for the darkness in his heart, for his doubts and his anger. 

But she was relieved that he was finding his way out of it, and even more relieved that he had somehow managed to convince her to join him.

“I will remind you that you said that the first time you'll want to smack him over the head.” Alfred's words had the absolute certainty of a man who'd more than once been tempted to do just that. Diana felt that same warm laughter in her chest as the day before, easy and convivial, as if they'd known each other for years, as if this was the thousandth time they shared tea in the kitchen and teasing words. When she smiled at him, he smiled back, slowly like he didn't quite have the habit anymore after years of supporting Bruce in his darkest moments – but it suited him so very much. 

“I am starting to count on that,” she said.

* * *

“I'm afraid Bruce Wayne showing up at that kind of low-level event might draw more attention than we'd like, sir,” Alfred pointed out when he put a tray with tea and sandwiches down on the desk. Diana flashed him a quick smile, one that broadened when he met her eyes. He tended to show up in the Cave sooner or later every time she came to see Bruce – sometimes only to bring them something to eat and drink, something to work on some of the Bat's equipment, sometimes merely to offer advice and suggestions. Over the weeks she'd already grown used to him, even as she was still feeling her way around Bruce's moods and idiosyncrasies. Alfred had started to feel familiar in a way that she doubted Bruce ever would, no matter how closely they were working together.

“Then I'll go,” she said when Bruce didn't try to argue Alfred's point for once.

“You're not exactly inconspicuous,” Bruce pointed out. From Bruce Wayne it probably would have been a compliment, offered with a sleazy glance, but from Bruce it was merely a statement of fact. Despite their first meeting, despite the way he'd touched her arm and looked at her like he thought he could get her out of her dress if he only pushed a little, he hadn't shown that kind of interest in her ever since. She wondered if all of that had really only been his public persona – she had found out quickly enough that the Bruce Wayne of the tabloid press wasn't much like the man she was getting to know – or if he simply didn't want to mix work and pleasure. Either way, she was quite grateful for it. She was starting to enjoy Bruce's company, despite his more difficult moods, but she had no intention of inviting him into her bed. Some people made far better friends than lovers.

“No, but I'm not a celebrity either,” Diana said and took a sip of her tea, her eyes back on Alfred. He was standing behind Bruce's chair, calm and alert. She wondered if Bruce found his presence as reassuring as Diana was already starting to. Once again his eyes met hers, and an idea occurred to her.

“But two pairs of eyes see more than one. How about you accompany me, Alfred?” 

She wouldn't have been able to say which one of them seemed more surprised, Bruce or Alfred, but Bruce recovered somewhat more quickly. He quirked a lazy grin at Alfred.

“Sure, it'll do you some good to get out of the house,” he said.

“Choice words from a man who only ever leaves the house in a Bat costume, but very well.” Alfred looked back at Diana, his eyes softening. “I'd be very happy to join you, Miss Prince.”

As it turned out, Alfred and Diana did attract some attention at the gala, but it was that of jealous, judging eyes rather than suspicious ones. She'd had her hand on the crook of his elbow ever since they'd arrived, simply because he had offered and she hardly minded the excuse to stay close to him. He was wearing a finer suit than he usually did at the lake house and in the Cave, deep black instead of the earthy tones he seemed to prefer the rest of the time. The fabric was soft under her fingertips, and when she leant in a bit closer she smelt the barest hint of an understated cologne, far subtler than what Bruce tended to wear.

“I'm not entirely sure why we're warranting so many looks,” she whispered, and he gave her a crooked smile.

“They may think I'm too old for you.” For a moment he covered her hand on his arm with his own, a tender squeeze that still held more strength than one might have expected from a man his age. She chuckled, her own laughter mingling with his. She appreciated beauty as much as anyone did – whether it was the beauty of a delicately chiselled statue or of an intricate dress, of an expertly engineered car or of a warrior's athletic body – but humanity's obsession with age she would never quite understand. On a pragmatic level perhaps it made sense to choose someone one could have as much time with as possible – after all she'd learnt herself how painful it was to have too little time with the one she'd loved – but at the same time, she'd never known anyone's heart to make its choice based on what was most sensible.

Half the evening passed before they found an opportunity to sneak out of the main hall and into the office tract of the building. It brought a smile to her face to see one of the Bat's gadgets in Alfred's hands when he hacked his way past the card readers on one door after the other. She'd seen him tinker with them dozens of times in the Cave, his long fingers nimble and sure, and not for the first time she wondered just how much of the Bat's almost superhuman skill he owed to Alfred's help.

They'd finally found their way into the right office – Alfred's eyes scanning the computer screen, Diana rifling through desk drawers – when she heard heavy boots in the corridor. Had she been alone, she would have tried either to hide and hope the guard would assume the light had been nothing more than an employee's negligence, or charm her way past him, but in her experience both stealth and charm worked far better when one was alone than in company.

“Play along, hm?” she whispered and felt an almost mischievous thrill at the confusion that crossed his features. It wasn't that she liked to tease him, it was merely that she'd rarely had the pleasure of seeing Alfred nonplussed. She sat down on the edge of the desk, removed two pins from her hair to let one strand fall over her shoulders, then took his arm to pull him closer to her. She didn't give him time to ask questions before she kissed him.

His lips tasted of champagne and his evening stubble rasped over her skin so pleasantly that she felt a shudder go through her. When she hooked her foot behind his knee to manoeuvre him closer, he followed without a moment's hesitation, and then he finally raised his right hand to touch her. His palm was warm against the side of her neck, and she sighed into the kiss when he ran his thumb ever so slowly over her throat, down to dip into the soft hollow between her collarbones, and back up again until he pressed it lightly into her chin and deepened the kiss.

Oh, but she'd thought more about his hands than about kissing him all this time, and yet she found herself unsurprised that he kissed with the same effortless skill he seemed to possess at anything else. His hand was as tender as it was firm, the kiss languid and deep and showing far, far more dedication than the situation alone required.

When the security guard behind her cleared his throat, she'd almost forgotten entirely where they were.

She turned with Alfred's hand still on her throat, then glanced back at him to catch the dismissive look he was levelling at the security guard.

“Would you awfully mind?” He didn't manage to sound quite as arrogant as Bruce Wayne on a good day, but Diana supposed his accent more than made up for that on this side of the Atlantic. The guard barely fumbled his way through a reminder that they shouldn't be here before he folded under Alfred's glare and took off.

She laughed breathlessly, giddy on the kiss and on getting caught, and took hold of his tie to keep him from pulling away. He curled his fingers into the loosened strand of her hair, rolling it up neatly until his fingertips brushed against the base of her neck. There wasn't much she didn't want those fingers to do to her just then, not many places she wouldn't want to feel them. She licked over his bottom lip, muffling his quiet gasp.

“I do believe he's gone, Miss Prince,” he whispered against her lips, sounding as calm as ever if not for the roughness in his voice. She touched her index to his lips, redrawing them gently before she breathed another kiss onto them, this one light as a feather. 

“So he is. But I'm not done yet.”

She looked into his eyes, catching that stunned moment of surprise before they gleamed again with a mischievousness that made her want him even more. She doubted the guard would be back too soon, and they could allow themselves a minute or two before continuing their search. He pushed his fingers into her chignon, untucking another strand that came tumbling down as he drew her into another kiss. He tasted like champagne, and desire, and a joyful familiarity she hadn't allowed herself to feel in too long.

* * *

As these things inevitably went, once they'd found what they needed, one thing happened after the other, and she and Barry ended up on a goose-chase to the other end of the country while Bruce remained in Gotham. She didn't return until a week later, and spent two long hours sitting by Bruce's side in the Cave, discussing his analysis of the data she'd recovered.

Alfred was there, of course, a steady presence in the background, quiet but for his occasional biting remark that made her smile to herself as much because of his words as because of the look on Bruce's face. He was working on the wiring of the Bat's cowl, and every now and then, when Bruce's attention zeroed in on the numbers on his screen, she allowed herself a glance at Alfred's hands. She touched her neck absent-mindedly, retracing his caress from a week ago, but it only served as a reminder that her hands felt nothing like his.

Eventually they came to an end, and while Bruce took off towards yet another unfamiliar corner of his caves to do whatever he did when he was on his own, Diana followed Alfred upstairs into the lake house. He headed towards the kitchen to put down the latest tray – keeping Bruce fed occasionally seemed to Diana like a full-time job on its own – and Diana followed him, sat down lightly on one of the barstools.

“It's good to see you again.” She didn't say that she'd missed him – his wry smiles, his smooth voice, the way he looked at her as if he simply understood. She knew he could tell anyway, even after the short time they'd known each other. Just like hearts were rarely sensible, they rarely took long to make their choice. When she held out her hand, he took it right away, fingers entwining with hers. He stepped closer, but not close enough. Hesitation smouldered in his eyes.

“Miss Prince –”

“Diana,” she corrected. She'd let him get away with it for far too long, rather enjoying the way he said it at times, but by now it was really past time he used her first name.

“Diana,” he conceded with a small smile. His thumb was rubbing her palm gently, retracing the lines on her skin. “There isn't much room in my life for – anyone but Master Wayne, really. He's quite high maintenance, I'm afraid.”

She laughed at the understatement, even as she was all too aware of the truth of it. She couldn't imagine giving her life so fully to anyone the way Alfred had given his to Bruce, all his time and his love and his energy, caring for him and supporting him even when he barely let himself be cared for. She admired Alfred for it precisely because it seemed so unthinkable to her. 

“I know that. I would never be so foolish as to try and step between you two.” She grinned. “You've said it yourself, he'd starve without you.”

“Oh, I'm less worried about him and more worried about everyone else when nobody keeps an eye on him,” Alfred said, the humour barely disguising a long, painful history. They both knew what Bruce was capable of even when Alfred did keep an eye on him. Diana sighed.

“I don't need every second of your time, Alfred, just like you don't need every second of mine.” She pressed her palm against his, let her fingers align with his before they entwined once again. “But every minute we can have together is one I'd rather savour than deny myself.”

His eyes softened, and although they'd never spoken about all those they both had lost, to war and to injustice and simply to time, she knew that he understood. How easy it was to waste time, to wait for something that never came, to tell oneself that there was still a future to make up for what was lost in the here and now. 

“Bruce doesn't need you right now, does he?” It was barely a question, and when she gave his hand the slightest tug, he stepped closer until his forehead brushed lightly against hers. She could smell motor oil on him, and tea and whiskey, and that elusive cologne. He smelt like he would as gladly spend an afternoon fixing cars with her as a night eating oysters and looking at art, and she was looking forward to doing all those things with him as often as the world allowed them. But for now there was something else she wanted more still than that.

“He doesn't.” Alfred's voice had dropped low, a deep rumble that left his chest only to fill hers with heat and desire. Her skin tingled when he raised his free hand to her throat once more, the lightest caress while she curled her hands into his hair – soft and thick and just long enough for her to hold on to properly when she kissed him.

This time she did not force herself to pull away, but kept him close, and if anything the strength in her grip seemed to encourage him. Every touch of his started out almost reverent, and then deepened into the heavy gentleness of a man who was not afraid to want, nor to be wanted. She thought to ask him to show her to his bedroom – she only knew that he lived in the lake house as well, but she'd never actually seen him anywhere that hadn't been _Bruce's_ space most of all – but she could not bring herself to stop her hands from untying his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, she did not want to push him away when his lips left a hot trail down her neck, his stubble sending goosebumps over her skin. She trusted him to know that Bruce would be far too busy for a while to interrupt them, and then she thought about not much at all underneath his hands.

Some people made better friends than lovers, and some made the best lovers precisely because they were such good friends.


End file.
